


States of Graces: A Collection of Flash-fic Requests

by Karthur



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: 15 minute fics, Drabbles, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karthur/pseuds/Karthur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of request fics for Tales of Graces. Each one was written in 15-30 minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secret

**Author's Note:**

> These were writing exercises where a requester would give me a character, a pairing, or sometimes just a prompt. In 15-30 minutes, I would write them a fic. No promises on quality.

_Middletails requested Sophie and Richard_

"Wow, it’s so long," Sophie said, looking up at Richard in wonder.

The King of Windor nodded as he grinned at one of his closest friends. “Feel it. See how thick it is.”

Sophie smiled, giving him a gentle touch. “Now it’s stiff.”

"Well, that’s from what you did to it."

She blushed. “I was just trying something I saw Cheria do. She manages to get Asbel’s to stay up, sometimes for the whole day.”

"The whole day?!" Richard asked. "That’s quite impressive."

"I know. He gets frustrated with it, though. He says it gets in the way."

"Well, having your bangs gelled up into such a sweep can be distracting," Richard said, fluffing his hair back down from the ridiculous coif that Sophie had helped him style it into. "But I do admit that I like the look, even if I can’t wear it in public."

Sophie smiled. “It’ll be our secret, Richard.”

"Thank you," he said with a smile. "And don’t tell anyone that I use egg whites to get my hair to stay thick and long."

She giggled. “I’ll keep that a secret, too.”


	2. Cherry

_Flowerwithnoname requested Richard/Asbel_

It had become a tradition of sorts. Once a year, they’d find an excuse to leave their wives for a week, usually under the guise of Kingdom business. Richard had no qualms about telling his bride of his desires, but Asbel insisted it be kept a secret. For Cheria’s sake, he reasoned.

Richard’s wife was nothing more than a doll, a woman born and bred by a noble family in Barona and trained to serve her husband. She was attractive, he guessed, if women had really appealed to him. Her upbringing taught her the perfect way to genuflect at the different ranks of the nobility, how to look on his arm, and to bear him an heir. It wasn’t love. It was necessity, and he was fine with that. He guessed she was too, or else she would’ve left him by now.

But he knew Asbel really loved Cheria, and also him. He also knew Cheria would never understand sharing her husband with someone else, let alone another man. So he honored his friend by keeping it a secret even though he wanted nothing more to see Asbel like this more than once a year in some nameless town.

This was another one of those meetings. Both men, dressed in cloaks, found themselves somewhere Asbel hoped they wouldn’t be recognized. He even went through the trouble of rubbing dirt into his red hair in an effort to dull the color. Richard hated that, as he loved the ruddy color of that hair, but he reminded himself that there would always be time for a shower later. Hopefully together.

So here they sat, in the tavern of this nameless town, covered in cloaks, staring at their drinks. There wasn’t much to say. They knew how they felt about each other and they knew what was going on in each other’s lives. It was pointless, really, to sit here when their time was so short. But this had become a tradition of sorts, too.

Asbel reached his hand low, and took Richard’s fingers in his grasp. Giving a gentle squeeze, he turned to see his lover smile, a brilliant, teasing smile.

Richard returned the grip, knitting his fingers between Asbel’s and giving a wink. But he made no effort to move.

For another few minutes they sat there, holding hands, trading glances, and feeling like it was the first time they realized their feelings for each other. This was the part of the tradition that Richard loved the most. It served as a reminder that this wasn’t just some basic need, but it was truly love, even if it meant deceit on Asbel’s part.

Richard finished his drink—a delicious little concoction of bananas and cherries and rum—and picked the cherry garnish off the glass.

Asbel gave him another smile and took another sip of his beer.

Rolling the cherry between his fingers, Richard plucked the stem off and popped it into his mouth with a little smirk. A moment later, he methodically drew it out, one tiny bit at a time. Now tied into a neat little knot, it was placed in Asbel’s hand.

It was time.


	3. Question

_For Lady Crescens_

“You’re lying!” Asbel said, glaring at his younger brother. “That’s so gross it can’t be true!”

“It is true, though. Sometimes, life is gross.”

“What do you mean?”

Hubert gave a small shrug. “When you stepped on that bug and it squished, that was gross, right?”

“Yeah, but it was a bug. And bugs are gross already. I mean, Cheria screams when we put them near her.”

“When you put them near her,” Hubert corrected, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you feel the need to torture her.”

“Cuz it’s funny. And she’s annoying.”

“Mother says someday you will learn to appreciate Cheria.”

Asbel scoffed as he grabbed his brother’s cheek and pinched it. “Yeah, I’ll appreciate her when she’s not bothering me all the time!”

Hubert pushed him away. “Stop it! That hurts!”

“You don’t whine when Mom does it,” the older boy teased as he reluctantly let go. “But I still say you’re a liar.”

“I am not lying!” Hubert insisted, stomping his foot to punctuate the sentence.

“I think you’re so full of crap that your eyes are brown!” Asbel grinned. His father had said that to him once when he told one monster of a lie that caused the town guard to spend hours on a fruitless search. He liked the phrase, even if it had been followed with a swift spank to the rear.

“Fine,” Hubert said as he tucked his hands into his coat pockets. “Ask Father, then.”

“I will!”

* * *

“What is going on, Asbel?” Aston asked, looking at his trouble-maker of a son from across his desk. “Where is your brother?”

“Upstairs, reading. Again. He’s so boring sometimes.”

“Perhaps if you found time to do such things you would cause less problems.”

“No way, I’m not going to be boring!”

Aston sighed as he rubbed his forehead. “What do you need? I’m in the middle of something.”

“I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Dad, where do babies come from?”


End file.
